


Out of Place

by Sonnet23



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Action, Comedy drama (well I tried), Crowley being his best self and his worst self, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Retired Nanny Crowley, long talks, they all need help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonnet23/pseuds/Sonnet23
Summary: Seven years after Armageddon, Warlock comes to England to find his former nanny.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 16
Kudos: 174
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/gifts).



> Written for Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2019.   
> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Lunasong365! And to Impishtubist for the lovely prompt.

Warlock was pretending to be asleep. He was in the hospital. Warlock quite liked hospitals; they’d helped him a lot when he had been at school. He had this almost supernatural ability to fall ill when he needed to – when he had a test in English or simply was fed up with studying. He didn’t even have to fake it; it just really happened. For a while, he had considered it his superpower, something that had made him special. Only later, a medical student he’d met during one of his visits to the hospital had told him about psychosomatics. Apparently, the human mind was so clever that it could convince the body to fall ill when a person was too nervous or too bored to go on with their life.

This was a fascinating discovery. Doctors, in general, tended to be rather clever people. And what was even more important – they always paid attention to him. They listened to him and were interested in how he was feeling. Even if it was only about feeling pain in his stomach.

He suspected that his superpower had worked again. He had finished high school, he hadn't chosen a college, he didn't have a job, and he didn't have a place in life. Because he currently didn't know what to do with himself, instead he had appendicitis.

It wasn’t a near-death experience, but it was serious enough for his Dad to leave work and come to see him. He was here now arguing in a loud whisper with one of the doctors.

Warlock listened without opening his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” his father said. “You’ve just made this nonsense up. I _was_ there when he was born. Well, not exactly _there_ , but I shared the experience! Anyway, how did you even learn about this stuff? Since you claim that it’s true, of course.”

“It is true, Mr Dowling. I know I shouldn’t have done the DNA test without your request, but this hospital needs money, it’s falling apart, and I had to fight…”

“And you thought you could blackmail me by threatening to tell my son that he’s not my biological child? Whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath, uh? Is it a hypocrites’ oath now? I will sue you, you bastard!”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Dowling, you’ve misunderstood me! I didn’t mean to… Clearly, there’s been some mistake in the lab…”

_But that would explain a lot_. – Warlock thought, still pretending to be asleep.

It would explain why almost all his life he’d felt out of place as if he hadn’t quite fit in anywhere. His father wanted him to become a diplomat like himself, but Warlock wasn’t good either at culture or diplomacy. He liked talking to people, but he liked it when they said what was on their minds and not what they needed to say to make other people feel nice. His mother didn’t want him to become a diplomat at all. She was fed up with his Dad always being away, and she didn’t want Warlock to leave her too. Instead, she tried to get him interested in science, art and other stay-at-home activities. He liked Maths and was quite good at it, but neither his teachers nor his parents thought it suited him to become some boring accountant. So he soon lost interest in it too.

Once he had been told that he was special. Back in England when he was a little boy, there were people who’d treated him like he was not an ordinary boy and as if everything that he did was important. That feeling was magical. He knew that the Universe would look after him. His nanny had told him that.

Yes, now Warlock remembered: it was his nanny who had made him believe he was special. She probably had been the only person in his life who had really thought so. She and maybe that strange gardener they’d had for a while. But he had mostly talked to young Warlock about the earth and its creatures. But the nanny had spoken about Warlock himself. She had sounded as if she had known what his destiny would be. Maybe she could tell him. Right now this was just the thing he needed. He needed a person who knew him better than he knew himself. And that person was clearly not his Mom or his Dad – who might not even be his real Mom and Dad.

So, lying in the hospital bed, Warlock decided that he was ready to get better. He was going to England.

It wasn’t difficult to find the telephone number: Mrs Dowling kept all Warlock’s papers in perfect order, so of course, she had kept the old notebook with his nanny’s number.

Warlock took it out while nobody was home and sat at the table. He put the notebook and phone in front of him. He took a couple of deep breaths. He picked up the phone. Then he felt nervous and went to the kitchen to get some water. He sat down again. Then he dialed and held his breath, half wishing that no one would pick up the phone.

_“You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”_

He felt disappointed. Now that his plan was ruined it seemed to him that all his hope and happiness depended on that strict British lady in dark glasses.

Warlock decided not to give up. He had a private conversation with one of his father’s men with special skills and asked him to find a person. He’d remembered that one day when he had been about five his nanny had needed to quickly pop up home to get something, and she’d taken him with her. She had probably thought that he wouldn’t remember it later, but he had. Vaguely. It had been a mysterious adventure. He had liked how big the building had been and that there had been no other people except for them, as if Nanny Ashtoreth had lived in the kingdom of Sleeping Beauty. He had liked the beautiful strange car parked near the entrance.  
She had told him to wait for her outside, and he’d thought that her flat must have been even more magical than the car and the building…

Now, that past adventure let Warlock give at least some details to the man who had agreed to help him without telling his Dad.

The next day he brought Warlock the address. He was a bit nervous:

“We found an A. Crowley living in that area, but I’m not sure it’s Ms Ashtoreth Crowley. It’s not the rarest surname, sir. Do you want me to send somebody to check?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to scare her.” Frankly speaking, Warlock doubted that anything could scare Ms Ashtoreth Crowley. Rather it would make her furious. He couldn’t risk it.

He took the address and started packing.

Warlock didn’t tell his mother the real purpose of his journey; she would be worried. Everything worried Harriett Dowling these days. He’d just said he needed to clear his head before taking his next step in life.

The more correct way to phrase it would, in fact, be: _he needed something to fill his head with._

***  
  


As soon as Warlock stepped inside the building, he knew it was the place. It had that familiar sense of magic and mystery about it. Warlock had thought that it was something only children felt when entering new and strange places, but he wasn’t a child anymore, and yet there it was.

He went up the stairs very slowly and froze in front of the door. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. What if she wasn’t happy to see him?

Well, he was almost certain she wouldn't be happy to see him. He remembered his nanny pretty well. Despite her telling him that he was special, he doubted that she’d ever loved him.

It was okay. He didn’t need love. He needed answers.

Warlock took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell button.

There was silence. He tried again. Nothing. Then a rude male voice shouted through the closed door:

“Go away, angel! I don’t want to hear your stupid excuses!”

It sounded oddly familiar.

He rang one more time. Then he heard footsteps.

“Okay, I’m coming. But it’d better be a good one.”

It was too sudden. Warlock wasn’t ready to meet someone he didn’t know and explain to them who he needed to speak to and why… He didn’t fully understand it himself… He…

The door swung open.

“Oh.” The man on the doorstep looked at him and sounded disappointed. Warlock was used to that. But then, the stranger took a better look at him and suddenly said:

“Warlock? Is that you?”

Warlock looked up and stared at the owner of the flat.

Red hair, sunglasses, prominent cheekbones… Of course, it could be a relative – a brother or something – but the likeness was too great. Besides, he knew Warlock’s name.

“Er… Nanny?” he mumbled.

“What the… What are you doing here? How did you find me? Did you look for me? Maybe it’s a mistake?”

Warlock saw he wanted it to be a mistake.

“No, I’m here to see you. I… I guess I missed you, er, _Nanny_.” He’d known all along that all his words would sound awkward during this meeting. But now it was just a whole new level of awkwardness.

“O-kaay,” the nanny said with hesitation.

“May I?” Warlock nodded towards the door. The nanny shook himself and let go of the door.

“Er. Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Warlock stepped inside and looked around. This was probably the strangest residence he’d ever been to. For one thing, it was huge. The Dowlings’ houses had always been big too, but every room had a purpose. Two rooms of this flat, visible to Warlock from the dark and incredibly long hall, were almost empty and contained just a few pieces of furniture and some house plants.

His former nanny led Warlock to the kitchen. It looked a bit more normal and lived-in than the hall. There was a table with chairs, a fridge and some cupboards too.

“What should I call you?” Warlock finally dared to ask. “ _Nanny_ sounds a bit… childish.”

“Crowley. My name’s Crowley.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want tea?” Crowley asked awkwardly.

“It would be nice, thanks.” Warlock nodded. He did feel a bit dry-mouthed.

“Good.” He seemed relieved to have something to busy himself with. The pause became too long though, so putting the kettle on, Crowley asked:

“Now, what’s happened to you? You look different.”

“Huh, look who’s talking.” Warlock chuckled a bit.

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, you’ve changed too, haven’t you?”

“Of course, I have. I’m not Aziraphale to be wearing the same clothes for fifty years. But you’ve become... er... bigger?”

“It’s been seven years. I’m eighteen now.” Warlock smiled.

“Really? That means, seven years since the Apocalypse? Seven years of freedom, and he’s still not over it?”

“What?”

“No, no, it’s nothing.” He shook his head and changed the subject. “So, how’s your life been?”

“Don’t know. Normal.” Warlock said and realised at that moment that _that_ was the problem. His life had been too normal – nothing too bad, nothing too good either. Nothing extraordinary. _Everything_ had seemed extraordinary every time he had been with nanny Crowley. “We left for America when I was eleven. I don’t know why. Something to do with Dad’s work probably. I didn’t want to. I had loved England. I didn’t quite fit in there, in the States. I had to find new friends, but I wasn’t very good at it. School was another problem. I didn’t like to study and I was never interested in the things my parents wanted me to be interested in. At first, I liked Maths a bit, but neither Mum nor Dad thought it was cool enough for a son of a diplomat. So I gave up practising. Now I’m no better than my former classmates. Now, Dad wants me to study law and become a diplomat, and mother tries to make an architect out of me. But that’s just because she thinks artists are cool, and because I used to make Lego models when I was a kid. It’s stupid; she could just as well suggest I become a race driver because I used to ride a BMX bike. But of course, she wouldn’t want that!”

“And you?”

“Well, that would be at least better than an architect!”

“No, I mean, what do you want to be?”

“Nothing! That’s the point. I don’t know what I can or want to do. I don’t know who I am. I could become an economist, I suppose, and my parents might agree. But that would mean accepting that I’m going to do the only thing I’m good at for the rest of my life. It’s so depressing! To do something you don’t like in a place that you don’t like, just because you’re no good for anything else.”

“Ah, ninety per cent of humans do that.” Crowley put a cup of tea in front of him.

“Yes, but I’ve always thought I wasn’t one of them. You always said I was special. And I feel like it’s true. I’m just not in the right place, you see? And recently I’ve learnt that I might have been adopted!”

Crowley looked at him in horror.

“H-how did you find that out?” he asked hoarsely.

“A doctor said to my Dad at the hospital that I’m not his or my Mum’s son. He said it was a mistake, but I feel that it might be true. I’ve never been close with my parents. They love me, but they don’t try to understand me.”

“Every young man says that… Oh.” Crowley said, and when Warlock looked up at him he looked a bit stricken as if he’d just remembered something. Warlock thought that it was a good sign.

“But what if it is true? What if my life would have been absolutely different if I had grown up with my real parents? Something or someone has taken that chance from me, so I’ll never know. And perhaps, you’re the person I’ve been closest to – the one I’ve had the strongest connection with. You’re the only one who’s believed in me. Who thought I was special.”

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

“I want you to help me find my way. Find myself. Tell me what it was you saw in me. What should I do to see it too?”

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong address, kid.” Crowley scoffed. He seemed a bit nervous. “I’m the last person you should seek advice from. Especially when it comes to problems with parents and finding your place in the world. I am a very, _very_ bad role model, believe me.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because when I’m listening to you, I’m not thinking about your problems, I’m thinking about mine. And I think that you, kid, can’t even imagine what real problems are.”

“Come on, don’t start!” Warlock felt disappointed. Is this why he’d flown across the ocean? “You aren’t going to give me all that grown-up bullshit about responsibilities, relationships, jobs, and mortgage, are you? You weren’t like this when you were a woman. You used to be cool.”

“I wasn’t a woman, I’ve always been me. And _I am_ cool!” He somehow managed to stress two words in a row.

“No, you aren’t. You’re talking about problems like they’re something one has to be worthy of, like you have to deserve the right to have them. Problems are problems. Not only old people can have them, you know?”

“Oh, really?”

“Really! What’s so special about your problems that you can’t forget about them for a moment to listen to someone else?”

“You don’t want to hear.”

“I do!”

“Fine! Where should I start?” Crowley shouted. Warlock didn’t know why he had suddenly become so angry, but he guessed that he might have hit a nerve. Crowley started pacing back and forth, then stopped and grabbed the back of a chair opposite Warlock. He looked as if he was using it as a shield and trying to murder it at the same time.

“I was an angel once. And before you ask: no, it’s not some bloody metaphor. And then I Fell. Meaning: I was talking too much and listening to the wrong people, and my Mother – who is also my Father – was disappointed in me. She never even told me about it. She just threw me away. Me and some other angels like me. You say that your parents want you to do things that you don’t like. But at least they don’t turn their back on you when you don’t! I ended up in Hell. Again – not a metaphor! I had to make a name for myself really fast, otherwise, I would’ve been eaten alive. To do that, I made humanity Fall. It took me several centuries to stop looking at people’s miseries thinking that every scream of pain, every tear of sorrow was my fault. And you’re telling me it’s hard for _you_ to figure it out who you are? Anyway, I got over it at last. I realised that I didn’t need to be good if there was no one who cared. Life became great, it became interesting, and I was free to enjoy it. Until I met someone who _cared_. Unexpectedly I found a whole new life only to lose it again later. Like a child, I was given a toy for the first time in my life only for it to be taken away because I was not worthy of it. This one _is_ a metaphor. And now you come here and tell me that your life is hard and I have to help you. I can’t even help myself, and I definitely can’t help _you_. I don’t fix things, I ruin them. I’m the one who made your life a mess in the first place!”

“W-What?”

Crowley was talking nonsense. It was clear that he was trying to make his own problems look bigger using all those exaggerations and metaphors (even though he said they weren’t metaphors), and to make Warlock forget his own misery. But the last sentence was totally unexpected.

“Eighteen years ago the forces of Heaven and Hell were going to start Armageddon. You know what Armageddon is? Seas of blood, skies turn red, the world ends. And they ordered me to bring the Antichrist on Earth and switch him with the newborn child of an American diplomat. I did my job, only I didn’t know that there was another baby born at the same convent that night. So your real parents got the Antichrist, the Dowlings got you, and their real child… I’ve no idea where he is now.”

Warlock was trying to process this. It sounded too weird and cruel to be true, even if he ignored all that “Heaven and Hell” shit.

“What? Why..? Why would somebody do that?” he whispered, barely able to speak.

“I told you, I was ordered. You don’t just go around disobeying Hell’s orders. Well, I did, but that was later. At that time, I just had to. As simple as that. Because of me – well, and the Satanic Nuns – you ended up with the Dowlings. And I thought you were the Antichrist. My friend and I tried to stop Armageddon, so I became your nanny and he became a gardener at your house.”

“Brother Francis…”

“Oh, you remember him, good! Anyway. We wanted you to be neither too evil nor too good so that when you grew up, you wouldn’t start the Apocalypse.”

“Are you trying to say that you were with me only because of some conspiracy?” The realization hit Warlock like a pile of bricks.

“Yes! But it was our plan to save the Earth. The stakes were too high. If the Earth had ended, it wouldn’t have mattered who grew up where. _I_ didn’t even _have_ a childhood, let alone loving parents; do you hear me complaining about that?”

“And… Brother Francis too?” Warlock was holding onto his last hope. “He was in on it too?”

“Yes. His real name is Aziraphale. He’s an angel. That doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t get it… First, you took me away from my real family and then you tried to make me your puppet. And not even _me_ , because I was just accidentally misplaced, right? I was the wrong boy!”

“Absolutely.”

“And neither you nor Brother Francis ever cared for me. You said I was special! You were the only one who did…”

“It was because I thought you were the Antichrist,” Crowley said mercilessly.

“I don’t know what that means,” sniffed Warlock. “This Antichrist, Armageddon, Heaven and Hell stuff. Are those code names? Do they have something to do with politics? But I do understand one thing now: you are a _really_ horrible person. I never should have gone looking for you.”

With these words, Warlock stormed out of the room and then – out of Crowley’s flat. Crowley didn’t follow him.

Warlock ran down the stairs and then stopped in the stairwell at the fifth floor. He didn’t know where he was going. He wanted to get out of here, didn’t want to stay a minute longer in this terrible building, in this terrible country... He didn’t want to go back to the States. Nothing was waiting for him there. All his hopes had been pinned on this, and all of them were now shattered. He stepped to the window in the stairwell and jerked it open. Then, following some strange urge, he climbed up on the windowsill and looked down.  
  
Warlock didn’t want to die, not really. But he didn’t want _to be_ either. He didn’t know _how_ to be, and _what_ to be, and he hadn’t known for too long. He was tired. And disappointed. He was so disappointed that it made him feel ashamed. He wanted it to stop...  
  
Suddenly, a woman screamed. The scream startled Warlock, and he lost his balance. At the last second, he grabbed at the ledge outside the window, but now he was hanging outside the building, ready to fall down any second.  
  
The woman who had screamed rushed up the stairs and started to knock at all doors. No one answered.  
  
Finally, one door opened.  
  
“What’s going on here again?” Crowley’s irritated voice said. “Can’t I have some peace and quiet in my own home?”  
  
“Mister Crowley, sir, there’s a young man in the window! He... He’s going to fall down! Please, Mister Crowley, do something!”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Warlock heard hurried footsteps running down the stairs and then Crowley’s face appeared above him.  
  
“What the Hell are you doing, you little bassstard?!”  
  
“Why d’you... care...” mumbled Warlock.  
  
“You think you can just come here and kill yourself using my house? You think this will guilt-trap me, or what?”  
  
“No... I don’t... To feel guilt... one has to have a conscience...”  
  
“Don’t you dare... Well... I mean, you’re right, I don’t need a consciencssse, I’m a demon.”  
  
“So just go away... Leave me alone...”  
  
“Do you think you’ll die if you fall from here? Nah, that’s unlikely. You’ll just break a couple of bones, probably a spine. Fancy spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair? I could prove it to you, jump down first, but even immortals prefer not to feel such pain.”

“Fuck…off!” Warlock’s mind was blank. He knew he was going to fall any minute now, but it didn’t seem like a bad scenario. He’d be either dead or in hospital. Warlock liked hospitals. You didn’t need to decide anything there.

A second before his numb fingers let go of the ledge, he thought absently if he’d done it on purpose after all.

“Shit!” was the last thing he heard as he fell down.

He didn’t scream; he was too terrified. He couldn’t even close his eyes.

And so he saw it – a winged figure in the window jumping after him.

No, not jumped. Flew.

He looked like a giant bird. Warlock was afraid of him but wanted him to save him anyway.

The winged man stretched an arm and grabbed him by the jacket. Then he scooped up Warlock and pulled out of the dive.

“Bloody hell, you’re heavy!” he said, panting on his way to the window of his own apartment. “And I remember carrying you around in my arms and on my back once…”

“C-C-Crowley?” Warlock was shivering violently. He thought he might have hit the ground and lost his consciousness. Crowley with wings? A flying nanny? What the…

“Yeah, I told you I was a demon, didn’t I?”

“I…”

“You thought it was a metaphor, yeah.”

Crowley stepped on the windowsill and from there – into his living room. He lowered Warlock onto the sofa and shook out his strained hands and arms.

“Now you know that it wasn’t.”

Then he took off his sunglasses – for the first time since Warlock had known him.

He had snake eyes.

Warlock, who was shivering already, let out a little frightened whimper. Crowley sighed. His wings disappeared, and he sat down next to Warlock, who recoiled a bit, pressing himself into the back of the sofa. Crowley took a blanket from the chair, where it hadn’t been a moment before, and wrapped it around Warlock.

“You’ve frightened me,” Crowley said, sounding as if this fact surprised him.

“Oh, _I_ did?” Warlock scoffed a little shakily.

“I…” Crowley rubbed his hands nervously. “I guess I should apologize to you for all that stuff in the past. It just… It really was a hard time, the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. I thought we’d either save everyone or everyone would die. Or I would die before everyone else. I could have, many times… And later… I think it’d never occurred to me that you might not be happy. You have a great loving family, lots of opportunities… And I still think that you can sort everything out for yourself and have a great life.”

“Will you help me?” Warlock said quietly. Crowley looked at him in amazement.

“You still want me to help you? After all… this?” He made a vague gesture whose meaning could include himself and his demonic nature, his past crime against Warlock, and their recent disagreement too.

“Will you?” Warlock repeated stubbornly. When Crowley remained silent, he added. “And I could try to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Crowley scoffed.

“You said only a few minutes ago that you were unhappy.”

“I didn’t… Ugh. Whatever. Shall I bring you more tea? You’re shaking.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I can miracle up a cake.”

“You can miracle things up? You mean, like, magically create them?” Warlock even propped himself up on his elbows.

“It’s better when you just transfer things that already exist somewhere. When you create them from thin air they sometimes taste like… well, thin air. But basically, yeah.”

He waved a hand, and a plate with a piece of cream cake appeared in it. Warlock gasped.

Crowley chuckled. “Being a demon has to have its perks, otherwise no one would want the job, right?”

He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa, put the plate on it, and stood up.

“I’ll make tea again. Help yourself.”

Warlock took the little fork and tried the cake. It was fantastic.

“There are bananas in it,” he informed Crowley when the demon/nanny reappeared in the living room. “I like bananas.”

“I know,” Crowley smiled.

“How? You can’t read my mind or something?”

“No, no. Just remembered. You always made me buy that banana-flavour bubble gum. You would do anything for it. Even play jokes on Brother Francis, remember?”

“Right!” Warlock chuckled, remembering Brother Francis’s face when the gardener saw that his roses were of all colours of the rainbow and that apples had “grown” on his pear trees.

“We had a good time together,” said Crowley, not looking at Warlock. “Even though it had started as business and even though it didn’t help to stop Armageddon. Besides, I’m sure you were more fun growing up than the real Antichrist was.”

“Thanks… I guess,” said Warlock and swallowed the cake. “Nanny?”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me feel old,” Crowley grumbled.

“When I was little, you used to sing songs to me. They were sort of strange, but they helped me calm down and fall asleep. Do you remember them now?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Please?”

“Hm… Fine… I can try. But only so you fall asleep and stop bothering me.”

“You said that same thing back then!”

“Hush!” Crowley took the empty cup from his hands and tucked in his blanket. Warlock rested his head on the sofa cushion, which was softer than his pillow back home, and closed his eyes.

Crowley began to sing:

_Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do._ _  
I’m half crazy, ‘cos I want you to Fall too.  
When I become Prince of Darkness,  
You’ll be my unholy duchess.  
We’ll burn this world  
For Satan, our Lord,  
And then we’ll defeat him too.  
  
_“Your songs have changed, you know,” Warlock smiled without opening his eyes. “They’ve become more sentimental.”

“Shut up!”

“I will help you to bring that person back.”

“What person?”

“The one who cared for you. And you will help me. Okay?”

“Just sleep already.” Crowley sighed, but Warlock thought that he’d heard a smile in his voice anyway. Or maybe he’d dreamt about it.


	2. Chapter 2.

In the morning Crowley started holding up his part of the deal by asking Warlock:

“Ok, what do you like?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.” Right now, Warlock quite liked sipping coffee at his former nanny’s kitchen table. It was weird how quickly he felt at home in this strange place, as if Crowley alone gave his existence some kind of sense and purpose. When he woke up and remembered all the events of the previous evening he wondered why he had even asked Crowley for something and how could Crowley agree when Warlock had absolutely no right to demand anything and, in fact, should be happy to even be a part of Crowley’s world. However, he decided not to say all this to Crowley. 

“Okay, then what _did_ you like?” Crowley didn’t give up. 

He probably regretted that some time later when Warlock took him to the sporting goods shop.

“This one,” he said poking a black and red BMX bike with his finger. “It’s your style.”

“Why should it be my style?”

“I’m not taking a bike on the plane with me, and I want you to like the thing that’s going to occupy space in your closet. Besides you want to look cool, don’t you?”

“What does that have to do…”

Crowley already knew. He just didn’t want to accept the inevitable.

The inevitable came into view when they reached the skate-park.

“No. No, no, no, no, no!” Crowley said looking at the ramp that dominated it. “I don’t even want to look at this madness, let alone participate in it!”

“Come on! It’s going to be fun!” Warlock said. He felt like he was ten again. He hopped on his bike and rode to the ramp. He made a couple of bunnyhops to warm up, then a barspin and a tailwhip. 

“Did we buy a bike only for you to break it on the first day?” Crowley grumbled like an old lady. “Why can’t you just ride it?”

“I am riding it! Look!” he shouted and rode up the ramp.

“I’m not looking!” Crowley shouted back. “You think I am, but I’m not – my eyes are shut behind the glasses!”

Warlock smiled. He was enjoying Crowley’s fear a bit. It made him feel brave. He hardly ever felt that way. 

He reached the top of the ramp turned and then rode done and up the opposite side at the highest speed possible. He made a whiptail on top of the ramp, turned around himself and then rode down.

When he finally slowed down and looked at Crowley the demon was clutching at his heart. Or the place where it should be. Warlock didn’t know much about demon physiology.

“So you were looking after all!” he said, grinning smugly.

“No!”

“Your turn.” Warlock handed him the handlebars. “Come on! Just try it.”

“I don’t like it. They’re like metal horses. I hate horses – you can’t trust them.”

Warlock chuckled. “It will do whatever you make it do. It’s like a car.”

“Don’t you offend cars with such nasty comparisons, young man!” Crowley exclaimed, and Warlock thought that he seemed to slip back in his nanny voice. “My car, for example, is the most reliable creature in the Universe.”

“Anyway. You’ve promised me to do what I want, and then I’ll do what you want. No breaking the deal.” 

“Fine!” Crowley said. “One time. Only one time.”

He sat on the bike and slowly and shakily rode up the slope of the ramp. There he stopped, got off the bike, and turned it around slowly in the opposite direction.

Warlock came closer. The ramp wasn’t that high, and from the ground, he saw Crowley shudder while looking down.

“Come on! You’re a demon, you can’t be afraid of heights!” Warlock called. “You’ve got wings – you literally jumped from the fifth floor yesterday!”

“I’m not afraid of heights,” Crowley said, annoyed, “I’m afraid to fall. ’S not like I’ll be able to spread my wings if I do.”

“You aren’t going to fall, Crowley! And if you do, you won’t die.”

It looked like Crowley wanted to say something else, but he took a deep breath and took his glasses off. He put them into his jacket pocket, grabbed the handlebar grips, and rode down. 

He screamed. Warlock almost regretted not stopping him. Crowley’s body was stiff, hands gripping the handlebars for dear life, feet unmoving on the pedals.

It was a miracle he managed to ride all the way down the ramp. His speed was high and it took him up the opposite slope of the ramp, but there, he lost control and fell, together with the bike. 

“Crowley!” Warlock exclaimed, already running towards him. “Are you okay?”

“No… Shit…” He sat on the ground and gingerly touched his forehead where a large bloody bruise was blossoming. Apart from it and minor scratches on his palms, he looked quite all right.

“Ooh, that must hurt!” Warlock winced. “It makes you look rather cool though. Like a proper movie hero.”

“Does it?” Crowley huffed. “I was going to heal it, but if you say so… I should get at least something out of it.”

Crowley looked at his palms, and the scratches miraculously disappeared. The bruise on the head stayed.

“I’m sorry,” Warlock said and reached out with his hand to help Crowley to his feet. “You didn’t have to do the ramp, you know?”

“What? You said it was my turn!”

“I meant just to ride the bike. I didn’t mean you had to do the tricks.” He gave Crowley a sly smile.

“You bastard!” Crowley said fondly. “Now it’s my turn to choose a place we’ll go next! Come on.”

***

“I can’t go to the pub! I’m too young to drink.”

“No, here you aren’t. The drinking age is eighteen. Not that I care, of course; I’m a demon after all. Anyways. I need to calm my nerves, so come on.”

They went inside. It was still quite early and the pub was almost empty. Warlock ordered a glass of cider and chips and glanced nervously at Crowley, who was downing one shot of whisky after another.

“Look, pubs aren’t for drinking,” finally said Warlock, after Crowley silently drank his fifth glass, put his arms on the table and lowered his head on top of them.

“What sort of nonsense is that?” he mumbled.

“Pubs are for talking.”

“Who says?” 

“All of them do, in the films.”

“Bullshit. Don’t lissssn to ’em. You lisssn to me.” 

“Okay, I’m listening. What’s happened that made you so gloomy?”

“Aziraphale happened.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Ye-eah. The angel. He was ye’gardener.”

“I remember, you told me yesterday. You tried to stop the Apocalypse with him.”

“Uh-huh. We’ve been together since Eden. Sssince I tempted Eve. And now… He’s just acting like… like we’re friends.”

“You mean, he’s friendzoning you while you want more?”

“Whaaat?! Is there, what, a special word for it?!” Crowley even looked up. Then he thought for a moment, said “Shit,” and drank. “I don’t know if I want more. What ‘more’ should I want anyway? He’s just… Ahh, you don’t want to hear this nonsense!”

“I do!” argued Warlock. “Tell me. When I first rang at your door, you thought it was him, didn’t you? You told him to go away. Why?”

“We had a fight,” he said unwillingly.

“What happened?” 

“Yesterday I went to the bookshop to see’im. But I hadn’t yet gone inside when I spotted a figure l-lurking outsside the building. He was looking through the window, obviousssly ssspying on Aziraphale. I came up from behind and caught the bassstard. He screamed. I screamed too, because, it suddenly turned out to be an angel! But I di’nt let him go. Aziraphale heard the noise and came outside.” Crowley frowned and made a face probably trying to show how Aziraphale looked. “ _‘What are you doing!’_ – That’s what he shouted at me. Why would he shout at me when I’d just saved’im from some lurking bastard?” Crowley looked at Warlock as if he was waiting for a reply.

“Er, I don’t know,” Warlock shrugged.

“’S because I’m a demon,” explained Crowley. “’M’always to blame. I showed him the angel I caught. Just some impish little fella, ridiculously long white eyelashes, I bet he can’t wear sunglasses with’em. Aziraphale made us both come in. The angel said, stuttering, that he was Aziraphale’s replacement on Earth, since Aziraphale no longer obeyed Heaven. And he’d come to him to ask for advice because he was experienced and evr’thin’… Aziraphale was flattered, of course. He said he’d be honoured, bla-bla-bla. I said that he didn’t need to waste his time on those people. They treated him like garbage, you know? When I was in Heaven, they…”

Crowley suddenly cut himself off and poured another glass of whisky. “Aziraphale didn’t want to listen. _‘Well, forgive me, Crowley, if I can’t simply forget my angelic nature’_ , – and all that nonsense. It’s almost like…” He stopped again. 

“What?” Warlock leaned closer across the table. Crowley looked troubled as if he wanted and didn’t want to talk at the same time. Warlock could see his eyebrows above the sunglasses, and this made his face look so pitiful that Warlock almost regretted asking. Crowley had never looked pitiful when he had been his nanny. But they had agreed to help each other, so Warlock asked. “Like what?”

“Remember what I told you yesterday about finding the one who cared? I didn’t notice at first that he did, I thought we were just having a great time together. When I came to him to ask him to stop Armageddon with me, I thought I just needed an ally and he simply had the same interests. It was only later, as the world was collapsing around us did I realise… You know, they say, during a fire one grabs the most precious thing in the house and runs out with it. For me, he was the most precious thing. I was ready to grab him and run away. Only he didn’t go. He stayed on Earth trying to save it, and he returned there even after he’d been forced to leave. But he didn’t stay _with me_ , and he didn’t return _to me_ either. He did it for the world. And I admired it too. It never hurt me, because it was him, and I didn’t want him to do anything for me. I thought he didn’t need to – he already was perfect, he already was everything I loved.” Crowley started as if he was surprised to hear himself say the word. “But then something changed. Our world. We became free from Heaven and Hell, and I thought that now we could belong to ourselves. And to each other. But Aziraphale… He continued doing good deeds. In fact, if you ask me, he began doing them more diligently than when he had been Heaven’s agent. He’d never enjoyed it before. I can’t see why he has to do it now! I, for one thing, don’t want to go back to my former duties. And I hate it that if Aziraphale does this, it sort of implies that I must also be what I am. A demon.”

“And you don’t want to be a demon?”

“I do! No. I mean, It’s not that I’ve suddenly become a saint, of course, I still enjoy making people’s lives miserable sometimes, but mostly because I like to watch them finding their way out of difficult situations. It’s more exciting than any reality show; you should try it. But no one’s keeping score anymore.”

“Maybe Aziraphale also does it for his own reasons?”

“What reason would it be? Is he afraid to Fall? But he hasn’t Fallen yet, so he probably won’t. No. You see, that line that had separated us before Armageddon – he’s drawing it again. We had been free to be whatever we wanted, and he is choosing to be an angel, of all things.”

“If you don’t want to do demonic deeds, maybe you could join him, on his side?” asked Warlock looking at Crowley with great interest. The demon had been right: his problems were much deeper than Warlock’s, they were more complicated and they involved other beings. However, if Warlock looked closer, he saw that they still had so much in common. He didn’t say it out loud. He was afraid to offend Crowley. He didn’t like it when his problems were compared to someone else’s, and he guessed that Crowley would like it even less.  
  
“I can’t,” Crowley shook his head and let out an unhappy laugh. “And I don’t want to. I would be a hypocrite. Sometimes I do something good because Aziraphale asks me to. But then I ask him to do some mischief for me and he refuses. He hadn’t refused before when we had the Arrangement to help each other. But now he says that he wouldn’t do anything bad for me because I no longer have to do it. I become angry with myself because he can make me do what he wants and at the same time he wants me to stay a demon. I care for him so much that sometimes I’m afraid that I’m losing myself because I’m trying to be a version of myself that he might like more. So to prevent this, I do lots of nasty things just in case. And then I realise that maybe he wanted me to do those things all along – that he wanted us to be on opposite sides.”

Crowley buried his face in his hands. Warlock noticed that the demon had stopped stammering and slurring words a while ago and realised that he’d probably sobered up.

“Okay,” he said standing up. “You win. Your problem is bigger than mine. Now, let’s go fix it.”

“What? How?” Crowley blinked at him looking as if he thought that the best way to fix the problem was to fall asleep for a century or so.

“We’re going to pay Aziraphale a visit.”

“Why?! No! That bloody little angel will be there!”

“So what? You said you had faced the archangels of Heaven, why are you afraid of one tiny angel?”

“I’m afraid that Aziraphale would hate me if I face him…”

“You won’t. We’ll just talk. I want to see Aziraphale too. I’ve already got your apology, now I want to hear his.”

“Huh. Alright. Off we go then,” mumbled Crowley still quite uncertainly, but he stood up anyway. 

***

Once they were in Soho, Crowley started acting weirdly. First, he stopped near one of the ticket offices and told Warlock a long story about how he had been to some theatre with Aziraphale, and how good it had been, then asked Warlock if he wanted to see a show.

“Maybe later,” Warlock said patiently. “Right now, we are going to see your friend, aren’t we?”

“Right,” said Crowley.

Then he saw a coin on the pavement and leaned over to get it, but it appeared to be stuck to the stones of the road. 

“It’s glued, can you imagine that?” he said but busied himself with the coin for five whole minutes.

Warlock was starting to suspect something.

When Crowley stopped to help some old woman cross the street, he knew he had been right.

“Is it just me, or are you playing for time?” he asked the demon once he returned.

“Er… I thought, maybe it’s already getting late and the angel wouldn’t want any guests at this time of the day.”

“Do angels need to sleep?” 

“No, but…”

“Then let’s go!”

“He might not be very happy to see you.”

“I’ll survive,” said Warlock and grabbed Crowley by the sleeve.

“Let’s at least stop at the shop and buy some cakes for him!”

Warlock let him buy the cakes.

When they arrived at the door of a small bookshop, it was already twilight. Crowley opened the door without knocking.

Warlock saw a middle-aged gentleman at the counter who jumped a bit at the noise and immediately looked up from the book he had been reading.

“Hi, angel!” Crowley said as nonchalantly as possible. “Here’s someone who wants to meet you.”

Aziraphale looked at Warlock. Warlock looked at Aziraphale. He did not look at all like Brother Francis. He wore an outdated suit like a character in a period drama, but he looked pretty normal. 

“Good evening, young man. I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure…”

“It’s Warlock,” Crowley interrupted him. “Remember? Not-the-Antichrist.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. 

“He knows everything. About us. I told him. Instead of a bedtime story.”

“Everything?” Aziraphale looked properly shocked.

“Yes, everything.”

“Are you mad at us?” Aziraphale said cautiously.

“I see that _you_ ’re an angel,” Warlock huffed. “Crowley didn’t even think to ask. I was mad, at first. But now I’m fine with it. I’d still prefer you to apologise.”

“Well, strictly speaking, it was all Crowley’s idea…”

Crowley glared at him above the sunglasses and Aziraphale quickly added:

“But I agreed to it, so I’m sorry. But in my defence, I should say that I thoroughly enjoyed being your gardener and one of your early teachers.” 

“Thank you. Crowley said the same.”

“Did he?”

Warlock looked at Crowley. The demon pretended to be checking his phone.

“You are a grown-up man now.” Aziraphale smiled awkwardly, obviously having no idea what to say next.

“Almost,” Warlock nodded. “I’m deciding my next step in life now. So I’ve decided to visit my former home and people I knew as a kid. Maybe you could give me some advice.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. “That’s– That’s very nice, I think.”

There was an awkward pause.

“We’ve brought cakes!” finally announced Crowley, showing the paper bag triumphantly.

“Great! Wonderful idea! I’ll make tea then. Come in, please” Aziraphale started fussing around, putting the kettle on and getting the cups. Crowley and Warlock followed him to the back room of the bookshop and sat on the sofa.

When they all settled down and took their cups, Warlock noticed that Aziraphale was glancing at Crowley a bit worriedly. He thought it was because of him, but the next moment Aziraphale said:

“My dear, what’s happened to you?” He pointed at the demon’s forehead.

“Ah? What?” Crowley touched his head, pretending he didn’t know what he meant. “Oh, this! It’s nothing. We had a lot of fun in the park earlier today. I didn’t even notice it.” He miracled the bruise away and rubbed the spot absently. Warlock knew Crowley was relieved that the injury was finally gone; he’d noticed that the demon wasn’t very good at enduring even minor pain – probably because he usually didn’t need to. So it was even more amusing that he’d agreed to keep the bruise only to be able to show it off to Aziraphale.

“Really? What sort of fun?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh.”

“You look great, Aziraphale,” Warlock said to save them all from another moment of awful silence. Besides, he still couldn’t recognize Brother Francis in this man, although he did look familiar. “Much better than you did when I was a kid. How did you do it?”

“Thank you! It’s so very nice of you. I… Well, honestly, I retired.”

“Right! Crowley told me about that. So, you’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I rather do. You see, when I was an angel, I had to do good every day, looking for a possibility to help someone, to save someone, to comfort someone. It was my duty. And when I didn’t do so, I felt like I was a pretender, like I wasn’t good enough. And I hated that good deeds made me feel so bad. But now, because I don’t have such duty anymore, I can do good things out of my own free will! I do it because I choose to do it. I can stop wherever I want. I don’t want to stop, so I don’t. But I like that I’m able to.”

“That’s… really interesting,” Warlock said and looked meaningfully at Crowley. The demon was gaping at Aziraphale. His sunglasses had slid down his nose a bit and his eyes weren’t blinking at all. He looked like a wax figure of himself. A very surprised wax figure.

“And what about you, Warlock? What would you like to do? What are your interests?”

“Hm, you see, I’ve already told Crowley that I don’t have many interests. That’s what makes the choice of a future career more difficult.”

“Have you tried volunteering? Many young men say that helping other people helped them understand themselves better.”

“Pfft, nonsense!” said Crowley. “He’s already wasted too much time doing what other people have told him to do. It’s time for him to do what he likes. What you need, lad, is fun. Rock-n-roll. Nothing will help you explore your nature better than acquiescing to all the temptations and desires you have. Once you know what brings you pleasure, you’ll know what you want to do. And believe me – it won’t be solving other people’s problems.”

“You know, Crowley, I think you might be wrong here…” Warlock said pensively. A shadow of an idea had just touched his mind with its elusive wings. He wanted to catch it. It was intriguing.

But at that moment the bell on the door tinkled, and they heard footsteps.

“I forgot to lock the door!” whined Aziraphale. “It must be some pesky customer. Wait here, I’ll drive them away and come back in a mo.”

He stood up and went to the main room of the shop. Warlock used this moment to whisper to Crowley:

“Did you hear what he said?

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? About him doing good, of course! It’s exactly the answer to your questions – the ones you’ve told me about today.”

“Ah.”

“Do you even understand what that means? He says that he is doing good because he feels free. Isn’t it exactly how you want him to feel?” 

“It is, but…”

“What now?”

“It still doesn’t help me to understand what I am free to do! Where is my place in this?”

“Anywhere you want!”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley huffed sarcastically, and then froze, listening. “Shh! Who’s he talking to?”

Aziraphale was, in fact, talking to someone in the main room, but for some reason, he was talking very quietly.

“A customer?”

“Then why would he whisper?” Crowley sprung to his feet and silently crawled to the door in a cat-like manner. Warlock was sure that the demon just wanted to escape the conversation he’d started, but followed him anyway. Together they peered through the door.

Aziraphale was talking to a young man with silvery blond hair and unnaturally long white eyelashes. He wore a suit which could be called fashionable if you meant that kind of high fashion that implied strange combinations of skirts and trousers, bare arms and lacey cuffs without sleeves. His skin glowed in several places. 

“I thought so! There he is again!” Crowley whispered furiously. “It’s the angel who was lurking here yesterday. I’m telling you, Aziraphale is hiding something from me.”

He pushed the door open.

“Hello, old friend,” he said to the angel smiling menacingly. He looked like a proper demon now, Warlock thought. If he didn’t know Crowley, he would probably be more scared of him than of that stinky guy whom he’d met in the desert of Megiddo a long time ago. “What’s the news?”

The angel did look rather nervous. He stepped closer to Aziraphale and stammered as he spoke.

“I– I just came to pay a visit to Lord Aziraphale… J–Just to thank him for the advice he gave me…”

“Did you now? You seem to have a lot of free time if you can go around paying visits every day. Want to have my advice too? Get busy!”

“Crowley!” admonished Aziraphale.

“That’s okay, Aziraphale, I was already leaving. Thank you for everything.” And then the angel suddenly blinked, the heavy eyelashes of his eye falling and rising like two huge fans.

“Er, right. Goodbye then. See you!”

“See _you_!” the angel said and left.

“Did you see that?” Crowley exclaimed, even before the door closed after the angel. “He winked!”

“What? Why would he wink?” In Warlock’s opinion, Aziraphale’s frown was over-defensive.

“How should I know?” Crowley shouted. “He’s certainly up to something. _You’re_ up to something, aren’t you?” He turned towards Aziraphale.

“This is _not_ your business.” Aziraphale was trying to keep calm, but he was terribly bad at it. 

“They’re trying to lure you back up there, aren’t they?” Crowley asked, his breath catching. He sounded angry, but also – Warlock suddenly realised – scared. 

“No! That’s absolutely not it.”

“Then what is it? Why do you keep spending time with this little shit? Don’t you remember that he’s one of them? Of the people who wanted to burn you alive? How can you?!” Crowley was already yelling.

“They are not all like that, Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, almost pleadingly. “Some of them are still trying to help people!”

“Ha! Dream on!”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to understand,” Aziraphale said sounding as if he’d very much expected that. 

“He did.” Warlock decided to point it out in case Crowley hadn’t noticed. Aziraphale went red.

Crowley threw his hands into the air as if giving up.

“I don’t. Uh-uh, I don’t understand you, angel. You’re digging your own grave, and you want me to stand by and watch. I’m not going to.” With these words, he stormed out of the bookshop. 

Warlock glanced at Aziraphale. He looked defeated. And that expression made Warlock remember where he’d seen him before.

“I remember! You were the magician on my eleventh birthday! You were rubbish.”

“Yeah… I think now it would be a great time to make me disappear.” Aziraphale sighed.


	3. Chapter 3.

Warlock hurried after Crowley. He was already far away, but his tall figure and unusual saunter made him stand out in the crowd.

Warlock caught up with him.

“It’s stupid,” he said.

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re running away from the problem, when you should stay and solve it. You’re six thousand years old and I’m eighteen; why do I have to teach you these things?”

“I’m not running _away_ , I’m running _after_.”

“Eh?”

“That angel. I need to know who he is and what his plans for Aziraphale are.”

“Oh! So, you’re pursuing him?” Warlock guessed.

“Yes.”

“But didn’t he just… fly off?”

“Good point. If he did, it wouldn’t be so suspicious. But he’s going somewhere on foot, I can feel the trace of the angelic magic. We’ll catch him and we’ll talk to him. Problem solved.”

Warlock didn’t want to ruin his hopes by saying that it might create more problems than it solved.

He followed Crowley. Very soon, they spotted the angel. He turned down one of the narrow streets of Soho with fewer shops and less people around. He stopped near a small café and looked around.

“He’ll see us,” said Warlock.

“He won’t,” Crowley assured him. They were only about ten metres away when another man appeared from the café and tapped the angel on the shoulder. 

“I knew it!” Crowley hissed triumphantly. 

“What?” Warlock was staring at the newcomer. He was about the same age as the angel, equally thin, and shared his quite unusual taste in clothes. His eyelashes were as long as the angel’s, only they weren’t white, but black as night. Warlock had seen him before.

“It’s Eric. He’s a demon. They are working together!”

“So? You were working with Aziraphale too when you were Hell’s agent.”

“It’s different. I feel it. Now, be quiet, and don't interfere, no matter what I say.”

“Okay…”

They approached the angel and the demon, and then Crowley must have dropped the magical disguise, because the conspirators suddenly saw them and gasped.

“Well, hello there!” Crowley gave them that frightening smile again and grabbed both man-shaped beings by their collars. They tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he lifted them up so that their feet were now dangling in the air. 

“M-M-Master C-Crowley!” stammered Eric.

“Yesss, well-sspotted, Eric. Are you alone here or are there any of your clones around? You see, I’d like to dispose of you to blow off steam, but I still want someone to answer my questions.”

“I am-m-m’alone, sir!”

“Except for your friend, I guessss,” Crowley turned to the angel and then yelled so loudly that even Warlock jumped a bit:

“What are you two doing here?! What does it have to do with Aziraphale?! Is Heaven and Hell behind it?!”

He was furious. And he was scary. Warlock couldn’t believe this was the same Crowley who had been afraid to ride a bike in the morning, who had talked about his worries and sorrows so honestly in the pub. The same Crowley who had sung him a lullaby the day before.

This Crowley seemed actually ready to kill, to destroy these guys on the spot.

“We… we… can’t possibly know what you’re talking about…” mumbled the angel.

“Shut it!” growled Crowley. “Now, listen to me. You either tell me what you’re plotting, or I’ll annihilate you both right now. Warlock, do you remember the church we’ve just passed? Go there and ask some priest to give you a glass of holy water. And I’ll start with this one…” He threw the angel onto the ground and a large ball of fire appeared in his spare hand.

“No!” cried Eric. “No, please! We’ll tell you everything!”

Crowley looked at Eric in surprise. He probably didn’t expect him to protect the angel.

“Everything?” 

“Yes, everything. Just… Don’t hurt Daniel!”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “That’s interesting. But it might be a trick just as well. Okay, Warlock, stay here. But be ready to run when I say. And you,” he turned to Eric again. “Talk.” 

“Okay… Well… After you, er, left, Daniel and I, we were, er, assigned as field agents on Earth.”

“What?! You got my job? _You?_ ”

“Nobody else wanted it, sir.”

“Huh, of course they didn’t. Morons.”

“Yes. But I’ve always loved Earth, Master Crowley. And I’ve always been a fan of your work. So I was happy to get this assignment. And then I met Daniel. We… we didn’t get on well at first. But then I told him about you and the angel Aziraphale and explained that we didn’t have to be enemies… And then I became even happier.” He smiled flirtingly at the angel, and Crowley shook him unceremoniously.

“Concentrate!”

“Er… Well, one day I was called to the head office and saw Lord Beelzebub and a couple of Dukes in the room. But that was not all. There were also two archangels and… Daniel. I was terrified. I thought they’d found out and we would be executed as you had been. Only I was not going to survive the holy water. But the meeting was not about us. The angels came to offer a deal. They’d noticed that your friend Aziraphale was doing too much unsanctioned good.”

“ _Unsanctioned_ good?”

“Yes. He is helping humans without any orders from above, and sometimes he doesn’t help the _right_ humans. You see what I mean?”

“Oh. Oh _yes_!” Crowley saw it. “Aziraphale is being kinder than Heaven, and they hate it!”

“Exactly. So, they decided to see if they could get rid of him. They wanted me and Daniel to work together to check if Aziraphale was still invincible to hellfire. It was a win-win deal – neither Heaven nor Hell would have to worry about Aziraphale anymore.”

“Bassstards! I told you, didn’t I?” Crowley turned to Warlock. Warlock smiled. He liked seeing Crowley angry, dangerous, and triumphant. He thought it did him good. “So, what’s your plan?”

Daniel cleared his throat.

“I told Aziraphale today that I knew that some terrorist was going to blow up a school bus. I said that I wasn’t strong enough to save the children from the explosion, and asked him to play the role of a tour guide – to get on the bus and protect them with a magical shield. But he doesn’t know that Eric will be ‘the terrorist’ and the bomb will consist of hellfire.” He fell silent and then added. “I’m not proud of it.”

For a moment, Crowley didn’t say a word. Warlock couldn’t make out his expression from behind the dark glasses. Then the demon asked:

“Correct me if I’ve gotten it wrong, but does this mean you’re also going to murder three dozen innocent kids?”

Daniel stared at the ground. “They said it was a very small number of souls compared to how many Aziraphale had saved during the last few years.”

Crowley sighed.

“Right. So, here are my conditions. I know that Aziraphale will survive the hellfire just like he did the previous time. I don’t care about the humans. I won’t tell him about your stupid test so that you can carry it out and make sure once and for all that you should leave him alone. And you _will_. Leave him alone _forever_. And by that, I also mean that you won’t come to the bookshop asking for advice, or an autograph, or Hell knows what else. Understood?”

“Crowley!” Warlock couldn’t stop himself from gasping.

“Silence, Warlock. Remember, I told you to be quiet. This isn’t your business.”

Warlock didn’t know what to say anyway. At least not until after the angel and the demon had given their oaths and hurriedly run away. Crowley shook his tired hands and wiped them on his trouser legs as if he’d been holding something dirty. Then he started down the road.

Warlock finally found his voice:

“You’re going to do something, aren’t you?” he shouted, running after Crowley. “You can’t just leave it like this! Are you going to save him? And the kids?”

“I told you, I don’t care about the kids. I only care about Aziraphale. And he will be fine.”

“Listen, I got it. You said that Aziraphale expected you to sit and watch him getting into trouble. You know what? I think he doesn’t want you to watch, I think, he wants you to _keep watch_! To look after him in case he goes too far. And be there to save him while he saves the others. I think this is it – that’s your role, your place in the world. You don’t have to be good. You can just be good to Aziraphale.”

Crowley stopped and stared at him.

“I… I like how that sounds. I don’t have to do it. I’m just doing what I’m doing because that’s who I am. Wow.” He smiled a little wistfully, and then looked at Warlock. “Thank you, Warlock. I didn’t expect that something would really come out of this day.”

“So?”

Crowley started walking again.

“Still don’t care about the kids.” 

***

Warlock came to the bookshop again in the morning. He looked a bit nervous, Aziraphale thought, but maybe it was because he was alone, without Crowley.

“What’s the time?” he asked as soon as he came in. “I agreed to meet with Crowley in St. James’s at noon. I’m afraid I’ll lose track of the time.”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear boy. It’s only ten yet. And the park’s quite close. Besides, I’m heading there myself soon. I was asked to accompany a group of students to the British Library. And the bus is picking them up after the tour around Buckingham Palace. Have you ever been to the British Library, Warlock?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You really should! It’s incredible.”

“Maybe I could go with you?”

“With me? You mean, today? Oh, no! No, that’s totally impossible!”

“But why? You’re an angel, surely you could miracle me a ticket or something?”

“No. I mean, of course, I could, but…” Aziraphale was frantically searching for an excuse. Suddenly he found a perfect one. “You’ve just said that you were to meet with Crowley. He has certainly planned something interesting for you.”

“Maybe. Okay. Next time, then.” Warlock didn’t seem particularly upset.

“Sure! Next time. So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Actually, I was going to talk about Crowley.”

“Oh.”

“You see, I think he is worried.”

“Crowley? That sounds like him. He’s always worried. He’s a quintessence of worries. I start worrying for no reason simply because I’ve gotten close to him.” 

“But he has a reason for it.”

“He always has.”

“He is afraid of losing you.”

“What?”

Aziraphale hadn’t been prepared for this. The Warlock he remembered was a slightly lazy and soft boy who was easily persuaded, who quickly forgot his nanny’s lessons when Aziraphale showed him a particularly beautiful butterfly. The only time Warlock had been rude with Aziraphale was at his eleventh birthday. But let’s face it; that was Aziraphale’s own fault.

This Warlock was surprisingly serious. And he was being serious… about Crowley?

“He thinks that you don’t like him as he is. He thinks you want him to choose a side,” Warlock continued.

“What? But– But that’s nonsense, my dear boy! Why would he think that? I’ve never told him anything– ”

“Exactly! You don’t talk to him, you don’t tell him how much he means to you. You go around doing good deeds and making him think that you prefer being an angel rather than being with him. You should tell him at least sometimes that you need him, or he will go on worrying till he won’t believe you even if you do tell him that.”

“But I do really need him. I just thought… I thought he wouldn’t want me to talk about feelings and be, er, soppy.”

“You don’t have to be _soppy_!” Warlock rolled his eyes. “Just be… close.”

“Did he tell you all this?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Huh! Can you imagine him saying any of this?” 

“No.”

“ No,” he huffed smugly. “He doesn’t speak. He acts.”

“You’re right,” Aziraphale agreed, not even trying to keep the fondness from his smile.

They sat drinking tea for a while. Aziraphale told Warlock stories from the past – stories about the majestic, generous, brave, cunning, and stupid things Crowley had done over the years – when Warlock’s phone rang. He picked up. Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s annoyed voice.

“Hey! I’ve arrived a couple of minutes early. I’ll be waiting for you on the bench near the blue bridge.”

“What do you mean ‘a couple of minutes’?” asked Warlock. “We agreed to meet at noon!”

“Yes, and it’s five minutes to twelve already. Hurry up, these geese are going to eat me!”

He hung up. Warlock looked at Aziraphale, then at his phone, and then he showed him the phone. There was a clock on the screen, and the numbers said: “11:56.”

“But– But– How?!” stammered Aziraphale.

“Oh, it must be because of Daylight Savings Time!” Warlock said. “I forgot that it is earlier here than in America.”

“I forgot that there was such a thing at all…” Aziraphale was still processing it. It meant… it meant… Oh, Dear Lord! 

He felt very cold and very hot at the same time. He was going to miss the bus! The was going to break his promise, fail his mission, and let all those kids die! And all that because he simply forgot to adjust his watch to the summer time. Aziraphale’s eyes were burning.

He rushed to the door, not even bothering to grab his coat. He heard Warlock hurrying after him, calling his name, but Aziraphale had no time to explain.

***

Eric was relieved. The angel appeared. He was a bit late, but he was here. Crowley hadn’t been lying after all. The hellfire bomb ticked away underneath the guide’s seat.

Aziraphale climbed inside the bus and turned to the children.

“Hello, boys and girls,” he said, smiling nervously. “I’m sorry I’m late. My name is Mr Fell, and today I’ll be taking you to the famous British Library. There are tons of cool books there and nothing will stop me from showing you all of them. Now, I suppose it’s time we get going,” he tapped Eric, who was wearing a disguise, on the shoulder.

Eric started the bus. There were about ten seconds left. He drove the bus slowly along the Mall. In the rear-view mirror, he watched Aziraphale carefully roll up the cuffs of his coat _. Poor idiot_ , Eric thought. _He’s so sure he’s going to save them all._

Five seconds.

The angel stood up from his seat.

Four.

He took a step into the aisle.

Three.

He raised his arms as if preparing to shield himself and the children from something.

Eric didn’t look at the road; he couldn’t tear his eyes off the angel.

Two.

That’s why he saw the sly lopsided smile that crossed Aziraphale’s face, just before…

One.

…the bomb went off. The children screamed. For a moment, Aziraphale in the bus seemed to be at the centre of the explosion. He held it, not letting it expand further. He glowed like the sun. Fire danced among the curls of his hair. Eric watched him, mesmerized.

Aziraphale _outside_ the bus, the one without a coat, standing behind a tree, watched it too.

At first, he thought he’d failed: the bus was leaving without him. Then, he was certain – he saw the explosion. Crowley was right – he shouldn’t try to be an angel when he was certainly not fit for it. He was too selfish, too undisciplined… Just look at him: he’d promised to help his young colleague save the kids, and then he’d failed simply because he was late!

And then, the explosion ended. It just winked out as if someone had extinguished a candle.

The bus stopped and that _someone_ opened the passenger door and got out. He looked exactly like the real Aziraphale, only much cooler. Oh, and he had a coat. 

Then he went around the front of the bus and pulled the driver out of it. The real Aziraphale was now so close he could see the driver’s long eyelashes.

“Oh!” He thought. “Oh, I see…”

The pretender told something to the fake driver, then he snapped his fingers, and the driver disappeared before he could notice the real Aziraphale. 

The kids on the bus started applauding.

“You’re a much more successful magician than I am, my dear,” Aziraphale said, coming up to the bus.

“Oh, you’re here, good.” Crowley in Aziraphale’s body said, turning around. Well, it was not really Aziraphale’s _body_ – simply an illusion. Eric was a mere imp; it was not that hard to fool him. “I know close to nothing about the British Library. And these guys are going to need a guide since they, you know, aren’t dead.”

Despite Crowley’s casual tone, he looked quite nervous. He was struggling to unroll one stubborn cuff and kept casting worried glances at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale felt himself blinking too rapidly and realised that he was trying to hold back tears. He was saved by the sound of police sirens.

“I don’t think it will be necessary. I guess they have had enough adventures for one day.” Aziraphale nodded towards the right where the police cars were already rushing towards them. 

“I could use a tour!” said Warlock, who had finally caught up with Aziraphale. “You promised me, remember?”

“Oh…” Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He shrugged. “Well, okay then. Let’s go before it becomes too crowded here.”

While they were walking along the quiet paths of St James’s Park, Aziraphale turned to Crowley, who was no longer in disguise.

“You saved my life. Again,” he said, looking at him very seriously. 

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Crowley dismissed with his words. He’d never been very good at receiving praise.

“I was being foolish, and I didn’t only risk my life and the lives of innocent children. If I had been… destroyed, they’d have realised that we weren’t invincible after all, and they would have come after you next. I risked your life too, Crowley… your existence.” He felt himself shudder at the thought. “I’m so sorry.”

“Huh. I didn’t think of that,” Crowley said, genuinely surprised.

“Of course you didn’t.” Aziraphale saw his puzzled face, and he suddenly became absolutely unable to control all the fondness that filled his heart at the sight of Crowley. He stepped closer, grabbed Crowley’s arm hugging it tightly, pressed his forehead to his friend’s shoulder, and stayed like that for a moment.

Crowley grew still. Then he reached out his other hand and patted Aziraphale’s back gently. Crowley’s shoulder was skinny, but somehow comfortable anyway. It felt _safe_. 

When Aziraphale released him a moment later, already missing that strange feeling of safety, Crowley said:

“I’ve saved your freedom too, by the way. They will fear us for a while longer, so you can do as many good deeds as you please. With no consequences at all.”

“Oh no, I won’t be so reckless again. It was a mistake.”

“Come on!” Crowley poked him slightly on the side with his bony elbow. “It’s what you are. You can’t go against nature. And I love it that you are so good that it has pissed off Heaven itself!”

He laughed so happily that Aziraphale even felt a little proud and gave a little smile too. Then he asked:

“And what’s _your_ nature then? You are free to be anything you want, too. Have you decided who _you_ are?”

“Yeah, I guess. Warlock here has helped a bit.” He nodded at Warlock who was silently listening to their conversation. Then Crowley turned back to Aziraphale and simply said, “I’m the one who’s going to keep you safe. Whatever stupid thing you do.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale stopped and stared at Crowley. What the demon had just said was huge, and wonderful, and it seemed like a big responsibility. But Crowley didn’t look at all like he’d said something out of the ordinary. And then Aziraphale realised why. Because it wasn’t like anything had changed. Crowley had just given a name to something he’d always been doing. To something he’d been always giving him. Safety. It was strange to feel it from the person who never felt safe himself, but there it was. And Crowley was going to do it forever. So Aziraphale said again, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go risking your life too much. Remember that if you die, I’ll have existential crises.”

Warlock chuckled. Aziraphale immediately felt a bit embarrassed; he’d kept forgetting about the boy. And he had apparently done so much for Crowley and even for Aziraphale.

“And you, Warlock? Have you found what you were looking for in England?” he asked, more trying to be polite than expecting an answer. But Warlock suddenly said:

“I think so.”

“Do you?” Crowley swung round to face him.

“Yes, I’m thinking of…”

“Is it volunteering? I knew that my speech had inspired you!” Aziraphale interrupted him.

“Not exactly, but…”

“Are you going to become a spy? Tell me you’re going to become a spy? You liked that little chase we had yesterday, didn’t you?” Crowley was excited too. Aziraphale made a mental note to question him about that chase.

“No, actually…”

“Damn it!” they both said, and looked at each other. Crowley grinned and Aziraphale blushed a bit.

“…Actually, I’ve decided to become a psychotherapist.”

“You what?!” exclaimed Crowley.

“I quite liked solving your problems, guys. It was much more interesting than thinking about my own. I know myself, but other people – they are like riddles, but the sort of riddles that need help. So in a way, yeah, I am going to be a bit of a spy – trying to understand what people are hiding from me. And I’m also going to help people.”

“It’s a really good idea, Warlock! I’m so proud of you,” Aziraphale said and shook the young man’s hand.

“Does that mean your old troubled Godfathers will have a lifetime discount on your services? We’ve helped you to find yourself, after all.” 

“Hm, let me think,” Warlock pretended to be thinking, then narrowed his eyes at Crowley and said, “Only if it is couples therapy.”


End file.
